


Before and After, Most Indefinitely

by moodlighting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kissing, Lots of that, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Matrimonial Bliss, Strangers to Lovers, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:30:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single breath of nervous laughter escapes past Harry’s lips. He looks over at the other man again. He’s staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>“M’not that small,” he mutters, peevish.</p><p>With that, some of the panicky butterflies in Harry’s belly ease away, and he laughs. Who gives a shit if he kisses a stranger tonight? He hardly knows anyone here. What harm is there, really?</p><p>“Um,” he begins smoothly, meeting the stranger’s eyes. “Are you, um, here with someone? I wouldn’t want to, er –”</p><p>“No, no,” the man interrupts. “I’m, um. Single.” His eyes flick down to Harry’s lips. “Do your worst, mate.”</p><p>AU. Two-shot featuring two weddings attended by Harry and Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I went to a wedding on the Fourth of July, drank a lot of wine, thought about Larry getting larried the whole time, then came home and wrote the first half of this drunk. It was only supposed to be a drabble but apparently I'm longwinded to a fault so it turned into...this. Hope you enjoy, regardless!
> 
> Title from Bon Iver's Beth/Rest

Including the actual “hitching” part, Liam and Sophia’s wedding went off without a hitch.

It was the perfect summer day, sun high in the sky (with rain falling earlier in the morning to wish them luck), and a light breeze to keep everyone cool. The flowers, freshly picked from Sophia’s mother’s garden, were bright and beautiful, with a gorgeous couple to match. Holding hands, they looked into each other’s eyes as they said their vows, making their promises like there was no one else in the world. Harry cried.

The crowd threw red and yellow rose petals on the couple as they walked back down the aisle hand-in-hand, unable to stop themselves from pausing every couple of pews and exchanging kisses. Harry burned the soft, sweet scent of the petals into his own mind.

Harry adores weddings. He’d very much like to have his own someday.

It’s the reception now, held at some swanky downtown venue, and the numbing chatter of the crowd filters around Harry as he munches on his appetizers, watching the people around him. He doesn’t really know anyone else at the party, which mostly consists of Liam and Sophia’s family and friends. Liam is one of Harry’s acquaintances from work, and it’s becoming quite obvious that Harry is one of Liam’s _only_ friends at work, seeing as he can’t spot another soul he knows among the dinner tables. It’s fine though. Harry’s been chatting with the two older couples he’s sat between, discussing the mild summer weather they’ve been having and the work he does with Liam.

Harry loves the atmosphere of the gathering – all of these people coming together to celebrate love. It’s exactly his kind of place. And he doesn’t mind being surrounded by strangers either; he’s got enough charm to get him through the night. Awhile ago, the photographer set up a glittery backdrop in one corner of the hall, and Harry’s already managed to snag some candid photobooth snapshots with the entire extended family of the wedding party – bride and groom included – as well as a few members of the waitstaff. He doesn’t really know any of them but the party has been in swing for a few hours now, and Harry has most definitely taken advantage of the complimentary wine. So Harry hikes his thighs up onto the hips of bridesmaids and mothers-in-law, wine glass in hand, and waggles his tongue for the camera. He’s maybe one of the only fun people at this reception.

There’s a game that’s been happening all night too, one that Harry can’t help but get invested in. Of course it’s tradition to have the couple kiss throughout the evening – spurred on by the clinking of table glasses – but the DJ had requested something a little different tonight. Every time the audience demands a kiss, Liam and Sophia must pick another couple from the crowd to lock lips first, then mimic their kiss. It’s good fun – or at least it would be if everyone wasn’t such a deadbeat. Maybe it’s because they’re conservative in public, or maybe it’s just because they’re old, but every couple that’s been called on has resorted to chaste pecks on the lips. Harry’s taken to egging on the couples around him to engage in some sort of tongue action, maybe a few dramatic dips as well. If there’s one thing he’s determined on, it’s making a fool out of Liam Payne at his own wedding.

It hasn’t been going well, though. The meal is already over – Harry’s just finished surreptitiously wiping his hands, buttery from all of the dinner rolls he’d stolen, onto a white tablecloth – and the DJ has started working dance songs into his mix, attempting to draw the crowd out onto the floor. Yet Liam and Sophia still haven’t had to have an embarrassing snog in front of every single person they know. It’s a bloody shame.

For a while now, Harry’s been happily watching all of the kids chase each other around the hall, their loud shrieks carrying around the woefully lacking acoustics of the venue. One girl, hair falling out of a braid and dressed to the nines in a white chiffon dress – probably one of the younger attendants – finally drags him onto the dance floor for the Chicken Dance, and he spins her around in circles in between the flapping of their wings and clucking of their beaks. Dimples crater in his cheeks as Harry watches some of the other kids wander out onto the dance floor with them, and he leads them through all of the right foot in’s and left foot out’s of the Hokey Pokey until more adults join in too.

After he’s been dismissed from chaperoning duty, Harry moves to go back to the wall he’d been handsomely draping himself against, only to find his spot’s been taken by another man. Harry’s a bit surprised to see him – he hadn’t come across a lot of other people in his age range. The man is in perfectly fitted skinny black slacks with a trim blazer over an untucked t-shirt. His hair is long but tousled, undoubtedly hairsprayed into oblivion to maintain those perfect waves. The whole look is an impeccable combination of proper and lazily disheveled. Harry gives him a covert once-over as he positions himself against the wall next to him.

Harry already felt lame enough going to the wedding without a plus one. Next to this man, he feels decidedly more alone. No one so good looking would be here by himself – no one besides Harry, of course, who’s a stunner in his boldest print blouse and skinnies, if he does say so himself. He’ll take up any excuse to dress up and drink free wine, though. And even if he did come alone – even if he’s not here to pull – that doesn’t mean Harry can’t have a decent conversation with an attractive guy.

“Good ceremony, eh?” he offers up, gently bumping elbows with the other man.

“Oh,” he starts, turning cautiously toward Harry. “Yeah, erm. Pretty good, yeah.”

“Love the theme,” Harry continues. “I was a bit wary of the gold and silver when I got my save the date but they really pulled it off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the other man agrees. “Classic metallics, can’t go wrong.”

Harry nods. “Are you here for the bride or groom?”

“Groom,” the man answers politely. “Me ‘n Payno lived together for a few years back in uni. Couldn’t let him get hitched without me.” He smiles. It’s a good smile, earnest, like he’s letting Harry in on some kind of joke.

Harry warms at the sight of it. “Me too,” he replies, returning the grin. “Me and Liam ‘ve worked together for a couple years now. He’s a good bloke. And Sophia seems great, too. She looks phenomenal.”

The man nods in agreement. The conversation dwindles to nothing after that, though Harry would probably stoop to talking about the soft cheeses they were served earlier just to have an excuse to keep those sharp blue eyes on him. Oh well. He nabs another glass of chardonnay off a passing waiter’s tray and lets the night move on without him.

That is, until another cacophony of clinking wine glasses fills the hall. The DJ turns down a blaring Chumbawamba song as Sophia picks up her microphone. She and Liam have already kissed about two dozen times by now but no one seems to be getting tired of the game. The two of them are probably running out of couples they know in the audience, and they both seem a bit beyond tipsy as they stumble out of their chairs at the head table. Sophia shields her eyes with the flat of her hand, peering out into the crowd, eyes eventually roaming over to where Harry is standing.

“Oh!” she gasps, clasping the microphone between two hands delightedly. “You two, against the wall there!”

Simultaneously, Harry and the handsome stranger next to him stand up a little straighter.

“M – me?” Harry calls out, pointing to himself.

“Yes, you, silly!” Sophia giggles. “And the cute small one!”

Harry chances a glance over to the man next to him. His eyes have markedly widened as he gapes at the head table.

“Erm,” Harry chuckles. Everyone in the crowd, DJ and his muted Chumbawamba included, has turned to stare at them. “We’re not, er. We’re not a couple.”

“So?” Liam goads, hands on his hips. He’s smirking at the both of them.

A single breath of nervous laughter escapes past Harry’s lips. He looks over at the other man again. He’s staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“M’not that small,” he mutters, peevish.

With that, some of the panicky butterflies in Harry’s belly ease away, and he laughs. Who gives a shit if he kisses a stranger tonight? He hardly knows anyone here. What harm is there, really?

“Um,” he begins smoothly, meeting the stranger’s eyes. “Are you, um, here with someone? I wouldn’t want to, er –”

“No, no,” the man interrupts. “I’m, um. Single.” His eyes flick down to Harry’s lips. “Do your worst, mate.”

Harry nods, a rapid up-and-down of his chin. Murmurings have started to rise up among the crowd as they wait impatiently for their kiss.

“Right,” Harry says, leaning in a bit, cautious. He can smell the wine on the man’s breath, the crispness of the scent of him. “I’ll just. Make it quick.” He leans in a bit more, his hand a barely-there pressure on the edge of the man’s shoulder.

Just as he gets close enough to feel this stranger’s breath on his lips, a gentle hand on his chest halts him.

“Wait,” the man whispers. Harry meets his gaze attentively. “Really just. Fucking go for it, yeah? Everyone’s been such a buzzkill. Make ‘em do something embarrassing, I don’t care.”

A quiet, shocked laugh rumbles out of Harry’s chest. He’s glad he wasn’t the only one gunning for some passion at this party. “Yeah, okay,” he nods, grinning. “I’ve actually been thinking the same thing.”

The man smiles up at him, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

They both move in at the same time, their lips coming together without a second of hesitation.

A pleasantly sharp spike of heat rockets up Harry’s spine as soon as their mouths touch, their warm, wet lips sliding together. Harry parts his lips right away, gently guiding the other man’s mouth open with his, and licks in slowly, leaving plenty of time and space for this stranger to pull away if he wants to.

He doesn’t.

Harry doesn’t know the first thing about this guy, not even his name – oh god, he doesn’t even know his _name –_ but Harry does know he tastes incredible. His brows slowly draw together as he continues the kiss with more intensity, their tongues meeting, Harry shivering as he brings his hands up. One arm, fingers still clasped around the bowl of his wine glass, rests along the plane of the man’s shoulders, supporting his neck as it lolls back, their kiss deepening. Harry’s other hand tenderly cradles his jaw, his stubble scraping against Harry’s palm while their heads turn in opposite directions, mouths parting.

When the man backs himself up against the wall, guiding Harry along with him by the lips, his back arching further into the kiss, the heat surrounding them surges. If Harry was paying attention to anything other than their soft lips sucking, trading tastes and bumping noses, he most definitely isn’t now. He feels…shimmery, almost. A buzzing feeling takes up the space in his fingertips and all the other places they touch; a warm, pleasant _rightness_ cascading down around him. Harry could be floating, he wouldn’t know the difference. He hasn’t had a kiss – a first kiss, even – like this in…well, he doesn’t know when. It’s impossibly good, and a craving ignites in his belly for this perfect stranger, the perfect connection of their lips. He shivers again as the man fists a hand in the delicate shirt folds at the small of his back, the other pulling Harry in close close close by the back of his neck. It’s far too possessive and demanding of a hold for such a situation, but it makes Harry positively melt into this man’s embrace, his hand slipping weakly from his cheek down to his chest, a helpless whimper escaping when their mouths break apart for just a moment.

The stranger gasps at that, shocked by the force of Harry’s response, and his warm breath ghosts along the tender wetness of Harry’s lips. A piece of silverware clatters, far away in the distance, and the jarring sound of it is what finally breaks the cloud of pinkish, sparking fog that’s surrounded them. Trading a final pass of tongues, their lips open and close against each other one last time before they finally separate, both of them suddenly reminded of exactly who and where they are. They pause to catch their breath. Harry releases his grip from the man’s lapel at the same time as the man drops his hand away from Harry’s back, his fingertips just barely skimming his arse on the way down. They’ve still got one arm around each other as their surroundings rush back with a deafening clarity.

They’re met mostly by silence.

Harry slowly opens his eyes, and he sees blue. Blue eyes, to be precise, staring back at him in awe. Both of their jaws are parted, both of them left gaping at each other, stunned by the intensity of what just happened, the electricity still sizzling in the air around them. The man blinks once, and Harry can practically feel the bat of his long eyelashes, their faces are still so close. Snapping his mouth shut, Harry leans back but doesn’t step away. The man blinks again.

With some effort, Harry finally tears his eyes away from him to sneak a glance at the surrounding dinner tables. Everyone in crowd appears to be as equally slack jawed as the two of them, surprised and maybe slightly appalled. No one’s moving, just gawking. Two people – Harry can’t tell who – begin to clap slowly somewhere in the audience.

“Well,” Liam chortles into his microphone, breaking the weighted silence. “I guess we’ll just…”

He trails off, and out of the corner of Harry’s eye he sees Liam grab Sophia and dive in for the embarrassing snog Harry’s been begging for all night. Somehow, he couldn’t care less right now. Instead, he turns back to the man still halfway tucked into his embrace.

Harry’s at an utter loss for what to say. How do you even follow something like _that_ up? He’s contemplating just going in for another kiss, tongue-first, when the man opens his mouth and speaks.

“Louis,” he says, hoarse. His voice is light, sweet and soft and appealing in a way Harry hadn’t noticed during their short exchange before. “My name is Louis.”

Harry is completely struck. “Harry,” he rasps back. Involuntarily, his arm, still wrapped around Louis’ shoulders, reels the man in even closer. “I’m Harry.”

Louis hooks his arm tightly around the small of Harry’s back, pressing their bodies together. With his other hand, he blindly reaches out for the wine glass Harry’s still holding, the glass tilting at a dangerous angle next to his ear. He pulls it out of Harry’s hand, their fingers twining momentarily – more fizzy sparks erupt between their brushing knuckles – and brings it to his mouth, downing the rest of the glass. Not breaking their gaze for a second, he leans over and sets it on the nearest table.

Louis places a small, gentle hand on Harry’s cheek and strokes a wayward curl behind his ear with his fingertips. “It is _so_ good to meet you,” he whispers.

Harry breathes in. In his mind, Louis’ words sound a lot more like ‘ _I finally found you_.’ Harry’s reply, though he leaves it unspoken, sounds very much the same. He breathes out.


	2. Two

All things considered, their own wedding is a complete disaster. Harry really should have expected that, given how many unfortunate proposal attempts it took for them to get engaged in the first place, but he had not been prepared.

Louis had always been a sure thing to Harry – he would have bought a ring the first night they met if he hadn’t spent that evening…otherwise occupied. Louis was _very_ good at that, keeping Harry busy. Harry had learned that fast enough. He learned a lot about Louis during the first few weeks they knew each other, practically binged on the information in his desperation to know everything about this blindingly bright, loudmouth of a boy that had unexpectedly, perfectly fallen into his life.

He started with his last name: Tomlinson. Harry didn’t think much about what it would sound like after his own name – that part came later.

He learned that Louis preferred the yogurt with the little fruit chunks on the bottom and liked to put loads of vinegar on his fish and chips – enough to make Harry’s stomach turn and refuse kisses until Louis brushed his teeth again. He learned that Louis had an aversion to keeping his shoes looking clean and always, _always_ kicked them against a wall instead of putting them away proper. Harry memorized Louis’ smell and how it lingered on his bedsheets; he learned what it was like to a _long_ for a person, even just the scent of their laundry soap, the smell of shampoo left over from a wet head of hair pressed into a pillow. He learned what it took to make Louis moan, and what it took to make him laugh until he couldn’t breathe, and in no time at all, Harry found out that both of these things sounded a lot like the rest of his life.

Harry learned what it felt like to fall in love with every little piece of a person, and how to do it so fast that his own heart could barely keep up.

Liam and Sophia hadn’t even had their first anniversary by the time Harry was proposing. He and Louis hadn’t known each other very long, not long at all, but that didn’t matter. Harry had felt some kind of certainty that very first night, snogging a stranger. And Louis wasn’t a stranger now; he was a part of Harry’s heart, the same part Harry thought of every time he woke up alone, or started daydreaming at work. He thought about Louis even while he was doing entirely unromantic things, like taking a shower without wanking, or putting away the dishes. Harry knew exactly what – and who – he wanted.

The first time Harry proposed it was right after they’d exchanged their first breathless _I love you’s,_ which would have been a very bold move on Harry’s part, had it actually succeeded. They told each other they were in love and fucked like they meant it, and then Harry asked Louis to marry him. Not that Louis had heard him, seeing as he was already sound asleep next to him (an annoying post-coital habit of his that has yet to be resolved). As he listened to Louis snuffle in his sleep that night, Harry had just laughed to himself and held Louis closer, thinking, _next time._

The second time he proposed, Harry tried to do something a little more conventional. They went out to dinner at their favorite fancy place and drank themselves giggly on a fancy bottle of wine, and just as Harry was about to get down on one knee, another proposal was sprung at the table right next to them. Harry had never deflated so fast, his metaphorical thunder stolen right out from under him. But after, when they ate raspberry cheesecake and then kissed each other to sleep, Harry thought that nothing had ever tasted sweeter. Harry told himself it just wasn’t the right time yet.

However, as each one of his subsequent proposals was also interrupted, by a poorly timed pregnancy announcement from Gemma, an unfortunate loss at the hands of the British national team, and one unlucky case of appendicitis, Harry had begun to think that maybe it would _never_ be the right time. That maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen at all – that all along he’d only imagined the tingle in his fingertips, the comfort he felt in finding a home in another person.

Of course, it was just as Harry started letting these doubts discourage him that Louis, the bastard, managed to successfully propose in one try, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like Harry hadn’t been tearing his hair out over the same simple question for months on end. He took Harry out to see fireworks on Guy Fawkes Night and proposed to him on some lovely marble steps and it was perfect and beautiful. Harry was only annoyed at him for getting the job done before him for approximately three seconds before he was gasping out a _yes_ and throwing himself into Louis’ arms. They kissed each other senseless as the shimmering sparks of the fireworks rained down around them.

After all of his proposal misfortunes, Harry had been relieved that night to know the hard part was now behind him. But Harry had been naïve to think getting engaged would be the worst of his problems. Even though they set a summer wedding date a solid eight months away so they would have enough time to plan, and even though they got professionals involved so the two of them wouldn’t fuck it up, Harry and Louis’ wedding was still, objectively speaking, a complete disaster.

They decided to throw a destination wedding. By combining the money from Harry’s secret wedding slush fund and a hefty slice of their savings, Harry and Louis were happy to be able to treat a few of their friends and families to a small getaway in Malibu. Yet, throughout the entire lengthy planning process, not a single soul decided to mention to two hapless, self-involved Brits that their _American_ wedding was happening on the _Fourth of July_.

The flights were expensive. The nice, beachside hotels were all overbooked. The traffic was _terrible_.

Fireworks boomed in the distance before their ceremony even started, sounding like bloody cannons going off and drowning out their tasteful music selections. And if that hadn’t ruined the mood enough, the fireworks also scared Doris, their poor flower girl, to tears. When she refused to walk down the aisle with her basket, Dan had been forced to pick her up, take the basket in his own hand, and walk them both down the aisle, littering the flower petals himself as they went along. Watching the scene from his place in line in the procession, arm-in-arm with Anne, Harry had exchanged a look with Louis, who was standing next to him with Jay. They both had to choke back their laughter.

Gemma and Lottie – the Maids of Honor – then followed behind the Dan and Doris show, arms linked with the Best Men Niall and Zayn, who, given their clashing ties, had apparently missed the announcement about the color theme entirely. At least no one fell down, Harry had reasoned. Pressing tearful kisses to their cheeks, Harry and Louis were then given away at the alter by their mothers. The procession – not to mention the entire wedding itself – was far from traditional. Harry wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse in the long run.

Seeing as it was half Liam’s fault that they were together in the first place, making his life more difficult by the day, Harry and Louis decided back in January to pay for Liam to get ordained online and preside over the ceremony. Though he protested at first, it had seemed all too fitting for Liam to be the one to make it official. So really, Harry and Louis are the only ones who can be held responsible for the catastrophe that followed.

Liam, taken by a sudden grip of nerves, stuttered his way through all of his opening remarks and butchered the declarations of intent. His readings, though likely eloquent and beautiful on their own, were scrambled at best as Liam tripped his way through all of his long-form metaphors and romantic words of advice. He went on a tangent about loving someone and all of their bad habits, which was actually quite sweet, and at the very least allowed Louis to have a nice laugh on Harry’s behalf when Liam talked about pulling long hair out of the shower drain. Liam gave them both a very reproachful look at that, thinking they weren’t taking it seriously enough. He couldn’t have been more wrong, though – Harry had never been more serious about something in his life. Not to mention the fact that Harry and Louis were the only ones who actually got all of their words right, making it through their vows and the exchange of rings without a single twist of the tongue.

The worst part of the wedding, though, by far, was the _heat_. Even though Malibu weather in July was supposed to be mild, their wedding day happened to fall on what would probably the hottest day of the year. The sun beat down on the audience the entire time, the humidity was stifling, and not even a measly breeze was in the air. Harry felt guilty every time he looked out in the crowd and saw all of his loved ones melting in their seats, the kids squirming around restlessly, the adults using their paper programs to fan themselves.

It was no better for him and Louis either. They were sweating through their suits within minutes of the ceremony starting. Their hair stuck to their foreheads and their fingers slipped in each other’s palms every time they held hands. At one point, when a light breeze finally stirred the dead heat around them, Harry and Louis had both moaned at the feeling of cool air on their sweaty skin – moans that were, unfortunately, picked up by the microphone for all to hear. Another time, without thinking, Harry even reached over and wiped the line of sweat off of Louis’ upper lip – actually interrupting one of Louis’ vows to do so. That had had them cracking up once again, earning another stern look from Liam.

Yet, when they finally got to kiss – simple and sweet and with a bit of tongue to seal the deal – and they were _finally_ , _officially_ married, Harry found that he really couldn’t care less about any of those things. There was just the man he loved at his side, holding him so close as they strutted back down to the aisle together, stealing away more kisses from each other whenever they could. And there was still the wedding reception, after all. Harry had had high hopes for that.

He’d maybe been a little too optimistic, in hindsight. He’d known that a DJ could make or break a wedding and theirs had only been average, having far too strong a leaning for acoustic covers of pop songs in Harry’s opinion. And though the food was great, the caterers had been a bit clumsy, sending roasted potatoes and tabs of butter flying on more than one occasion. Kids brought multiple wine glasses shattering to the floor too, although that didn’t stop everyone from getting a bit blitzed as the night wore on. Harry definitely partook in his fair share of wine, and it was as he was stumbling his way out of the toilet for the fourth time that Gemma finally cornered him, baby Elliot balanced on her hip.

“Are you okay?” she’d asked, placing gentle, concerned hand on Harry’s elbow. After all the disasters they’d weathered throughout the day her sad eyes were more than justified, if not a little misplaced.

“Of course,” Harry had frowned. He was more than okay. Perfect, even. Dismissing her concerns, he’d simply held out his hand to Elliot and asked for a dance. “May I take this one?”

Really, the most disappointing thing to Harry was that he and Louis didn’t get to spend much of the evening together, both too caught up in their own mingling and schmoozing. Oftentimes, when glasses were clinked and they were due for another kiss, Harry would have to call out, “Has anyone seen my husband? Louis Tomlinson, are you in the building?” Louis would always come running though, immediately dropping whatever he was doing to make his way to the head table and kiss Harry silly. Harry didn’t really keep track, but Louis made a point to tell him he loved him after every kiss, too.

Weddings were just so busy. Even though it was “their” night, there was still so much for them to do, so many people to please. By the time the party was finally starting to wind down, after so many calamities and so much wine, Harry was nearly dead on his feet. But then Louis had been there to hold them up as they danced, the last ones on the dancefloor, and the kisses he pressed to Harry’s neck and the fingers he stroked gently through his tousled curls made everything better.

It’s late now. After tipsily stumbling all the way down the shoreline from the venue to their resort, and following one botched attempt to carry each other over the threshold, they’ve finally managed to make it safely back into their room. If there was one upside to their hotel being overbooked, it’s this beachside villa they had to arrange as a replacement. Although it’s small, the house is cozy and open, pretty and picturesque. It has a deck that leads straight out to the beach and an amazing view of the ocean – and supposedly an even better view of the fireworks that are set to go off in about twenty minutes. Harry’s just gotten out of the shower, having finally washed off the day’s worth of sweat and spilled wine, and sprawled himself out on his stomach across the center of their bed, wearing only his tiny grey briefs. His wet hair is flopping all over his face and his cheek is mushed unattractively into the pillow, but it just feels so good to lie down. Harry is exhausted.

With his eyes already half-lidded, Harry feels it more than he sees it when Louis joins him on the bed. Crawling over top of him, he gives Harry’s arse a few fond pats on his way, then settles on his side next to him. He lays his head down on Harry’s pillow, their noses just a breath away from touching, and drapes a leg over Harry’s prone form, spooning up against his whole, flat body. Gently, Louis brushes the wet, tangled curls away from Harry’s face so he can see his eyes, then continues the walk of his fingers down the entire length of Harry’s spine, kneading them into every knotted ridge as he goes, as if he knew being on his feet all day had made Harry sore. Harry loves him so much.

“I know that we should be having explosive honeymoon sex right now,” Harry mumbles slowly against the pillow, his eyes drooping all the way closed. “But I’m just so tired.”

“Don’t _have_ to do anything, love,” Louis reassures. “You and I both know we’d miss the fireworks if we got started now. Always got to be so extra and soppy about it, don’t we? And we’ve been up since six a.m. If we tried to fuck now we’d probably have to do it weird old people style, all on our sides like this.”

He rocks his hips forward against Harry’s thigh, which sends them both into a fit of giggles.

Eyes closed, Harry snuggles in closer to Louis’ chest once their laughter has subsided. “Can’t wait to have old people sex with you,” he hums contentedly.

Louis laughs. “Me too,” he replies softly. Harry can hear his smile in his words. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to Louis’ neck; a quiet _thank you_ and _I love you_ all in one. “Anyway, we’ve got two weeks to ourselves in this place, I think we’ll have plenty of time for all our explosive honeymoon sex,” Louis continues. “And we kinda already took care of some of that when we got the marriage license signed a week ago, didn’t we?”

Like Harry could ever forget. He doesn’t throw around the word ‘soulmate’ lightly, but there’s something to be said about finding someone who’s as turned on by committed monogamy and a trip to the register’s office as him.

Cricket chirps filter in through their open windows as they continue to lie together in silence, the cool ocean breeze ruffling the curtains with a muffled sound. Louis fiddles with the silver bracelet on Harry’s wrist, still rubbing at the small of his back as they quietly, comfortably take in each other, taking up each other’s space.

Harry has nearly dozed off by the time Louis speaks up again. “It’s okay if you’re upset, you know,” he starts, voice soft. Harry opens his eyes at that, confused. Louis meets his gaze seriously. “That things didn’t go very well. I know you might think it’s selfish, or impolite to be angry about it, but we worked so hard on everything. You’re allowed to be upset that the wedding didn’t turn out.”

“I’m not, though,” Harry frowns. He can’t think of a single less fitting word for how he felt about his wedding than ‘upset.’ And then he gets worried. “Are _you_ upset?” he asks, nervous.

“No, no!” Louis hastily assures, eyes widening in alarm. “No, not at all, Haz. I loved every second of it.”

“I did too,” Harry agrees. “Even if everyone seems to think that I was angry about everything, I was never really upset. At all.” He thinks about it for a moment then adds, “I wasn’t like, a bridezilla or something, was I? Gemma and mum sent me pleading looks all night, I swear.”

“Nah, you were perfect, babe,” Louis giggles.

Harry looks up at him with a gentle, tired smile. “I was so happy, all day,” he continues. “Very happy. Sure, some things didn’t go as planned, but when do they ever with us? We just laughed about it. It was _fun,_ even if it was a bit tragic.” Harry gives a tiny shrug of his shoulders and finishes quietly, “I just wanted to marry you, that’s all. Didn’t matter how it happened.”

Louis breathes out a long sigh at that; Harry can feel it as Louis melts further into the bed next to him. When he doesn’t say anything in response, Harry glances up again to find Louis already staring back at him, a lax, openly adoring expression on his face. Sometimes, Harry is completely blown away by just how soft Louis can be, even after all this time. Although he’s often prickly and acerbic, especially to those who don’t understand him well enough to see through it, Louis is still a very affectionate, tender person in general. And yet, especially at times like this, Harry can still be totally, gut-wrenchingly taken aback by how intensely Louis expresses his love. Even with a single look.

Louis still doesn’t say anything. Instead, just when Harry is about to speak up again, he surges forward and catches Harry’s lips in a lush, open kiss. Harry isn’t able to stop the surprised noise he squeaks out but he recovers quickly enough, immediately rolling onto his side, peeling his face off the pillow to better accommodate their kiss. Louis pulls him in closer with the leg he’s still got wrapped around his thighs, capturing Harry’s cheeks in both of his palms as he kisses him thoroughly, languidly. Their mouths are soft against each other, lips wet as they bite and suck and let the world narrow down to only their bed, just the nonexistent space between them.

“God, I love you,” Louis whispers when they briefly pause for a breath. He smacks two kisses onto Harry’s lips between his words, like he just can’t help himself. “So much.”

“Mmm. Love you too,” Harry hums in response. He thumbs at the bare skin across Louis’ ribs, holding him close and keeping his lips busy at the line of his jaw. “Thanks for marrying me.”

Louis snuffles out a snort at that, pulling away just an inch to level Harry with a fond but incredulous look. “Don’t mention it,” he chuckles, endeared. Their matching smiles only break when he leans forward to gently press their lips together once more, their eyes falling closed.

Harry loses track of just how long they kiss. He only knows time is still passing because the longer it goes on, the more searching their hands become, the more pointed their hips move against each other, the deeper they try to reach, until Harry is beginning to reconsider just how tired he actually feels. His dick is certainly affected by the sudden change in mood.

Tangling their legs together, Harry shifts both of their bodies around without breaking the kiss, pulling Louis in close until he’s positioned over top of him. He’s just threading his fingers into the softest part of Louis’ hair at the back of his head, rutting up against him, when the first _boom_ goes off, rattling their windows and the painting above their bed.

“The fireworks!” Louis exclaims, shocking Harry as he wrenches their lips apart and hurriedly scrambles up and off of him.

Disoriented by Louis’ urgency and the abrupt loss of all the touching, Harry can only stutter out a bewildered, “Wh – what?” as Louis rushes halfway across the room then doubles back to retrieve him.

“Come on, come on!” he cries, taking one of Harry’s wrists in both of his hands and bodily dragging him across the bed. “The fireworks, Harry! We didn’t have our wedding on the bloody Fourth of July just to miss the fireworks!”

“Noooo,” Harry whines pitifully, flopping back over onto his belly, mourning the loss of the great sex he was about to have. “But we were making our own fireworks, Lou…”

Louis slaps his arse – hard. “Sex later!”

“Ow!” Harry yelps, scowling over his shoulder at him. “What’d you do that for?”

“Harryyy,” Louis whines back. “I’ll kiss it better later, you big baby. Please just _get up_.”

Harry arches his eyebrows at him. “Is that a promise?”

“You _know_ that it is,” Louis huffs, impatient with Harry’s flirting. “Now come _on!_ ” He tugs on Harry’s arm one last time before he finally gives up and tromps out onto their deck without him.

Harry knows he’s going to follow Louis outside no matter what, so there’s really not much point in him dawdling here in the room. With a sigh, he palms himself halfheartedly and begrudgingly heaves himself off the bed, gathering up their rumpled comforter into his arms. “Fucking Yankees…” he mutters.

As Harry steps out onto the deck, the rough, salt-weathered wooden boards creaking beneath his feet, an explosion of red light swells in the sky and illuminates the area around him, the water before him. Louis, perched on the edge of the deck railing, looking so small in front of the vast expanse of the ocean, peers up at the fireworks in awe. Another group of golden bursts light up his face just as Harry swings a leg over the barrier and settles in next to him. Seeing Louis glow like this, both by the light and by himself, watching the fireworks so simply and so joyously, Harry begins to think – no, he _knows_ – that he would follow this boy anywhere.

He scoots closer to wrap an arm around Louis, draping the comforter around both of their naked shoulders. Cuddling in close, Harry turns his head away from the fireworks to whisper, “Are you wearing leggings?” in Louis’ ear.

Half-asleep or half-hard, Harry hadn’t spent much time studying what Louis had changed into after their shower. As he’d scurried out through the sliding glass door, though, Harry’d had the perfect view of the black cotton leggings now clinging to curves of Louis’ legs.

“Yeah,” Louis replies absently. “Gems gave ‘em to me. They’re quite comfortable, actually. You should borrow ‘em sometime.”

Harry hums, considering. “Think they’d be more like capris on me,” he muses.

Louis pats his thigh. “You have lovely calves, babe.”

Harry chuckles at the reassurance. As the firework display continues in front of them, ribbons of light seem to cascade down into the water, bright smatterings of color lighting up the oceanfront in bursts of blue, green, red. Harry and Louis _ooh_ and _ahh_ in all the right places, pointing out the explosions they like best and keeping up an ongoing commentary between the two of them. The hollow _booms_ and sharp crackles echo around the entire shoreline, rattling their chests and making their ears ring.

“Those are my favorite I think,” Louis whispers as a massive bunch of glowing white-gold comets shimmer their way closer to the ground, like streamers in the sky.

“Mine too,” Harry murmurs back. “’S like a weeping willow.”

Louis nods in agreement. Gently, he picks up Harry’s hand and twines their fingers together. “This all kinda reminds me of our engagement night,” he remarks softly.

Harry turns to meet his gaze. “You’re right,” he says, smiling at the sentiment. “We’ll have to pretend like we planned it this way on purpose.”

Louis presses his answering giggles into the softness of Harry’s upper arm. “Yeah,” he sighs. The fireworks are getting much sparser now, more time passing between each explosion. After two impressively patriotic red and blue displays, Louis adds on a thoughtful, “That was a good night, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Harry hums in agreement, still gazing at Louis. The light of the fireworks makes his eyes shine so bright in the dark, Harry can’t help but notice. So blue. “Still mad at you for proposing first, if I’m being honest,” he comments drily when he does finally manage to look away. “We should probably just divorce now since I’m going to secretly resent you for it forever.”

“We probably should,” Louis laughs. “You did technically propose first, though. I was just the first to _succeed_ ,” he teases. “How many times did you try again?”

“Ha ha,” Harry deadpans, bumping Louis’ chin off his shoulder. “It was five. Five times.”

“Aww, bless,” Louis coos, pecking a doting kiss on his cheek. “You love me.”

Harry turns his head just as Louis leans in again, seizing the opportunity to turn another peck into a kiss. When the grand finale of the firework display begins, clusters of light going off all at once, bathing the shoreline in color and sound, Harry and Louis don’t pay any attention at all, too wrapped up in their roaming hands and lips on each other.

And when all that’s left of it is a lingering rumble in their chests and the hazy smoke curling out across in the water, Harry answers. “Yeah,” he breathes out, soft and sure. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/) \- [fic post](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/123914031245/before-and-after-most-indefinitely-by)


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